


Local Resources

by Penknife



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars Original Trilogy
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-07 21:22:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18881512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Penknife/pseuds/Penknife
Summary: K-2’s primary conclusion about the planet Tatooine is that it contains 98% too much sand.





	Local Resources

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Aurae](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aurae/gifts).



K-2’s primary conclusion about the planet Tatooine is that it contains 98% too much sand. The sand has minimal value as a natural resource, and it works its way into K-2’s joints in a nefarious way. If the sand were removed, the planet would be improved.

He is in the process of pointing this out to Cassian, who seems unreasonably skeptical, when several organic beings open fire on the two of them.

Cassian throws himself behind the corner of a building, and K-2 attempts to interpose himself between the sources of blaster fire and Cassian. “They shouldn’t have followed us,” Cassian complains. 

“Would you like to inform them of that?”

“I mean that we should have lost them.”

“Then you are correct.” 

Cassian leans out from cover, fires, and smiles grimly. “I can always count on you to say ‘I told you so.’”

“I told you that there was a chance we were being followed.”

“A twenty-three percent chance. That’s acceptable.”

“Is this acceptable?” A blaster bolt glances off K-2’s torso. There are too many organic beings, moving in too quickly. He calculates that he will be unable to protect Cassian long enough for Cassian to kill their pursuers. That is not acceptable.

“No, Kay, I’m not having fun right now. Do you see that speeder?”

“Obviously.”

“We’re going to make a run for it.”

“The probability—

“Tell me you have a better idea.”

“I have a better idea.”

“I’m waiting,” Cassian says, firing around the corner again. 

“I don’t have a better idea, but you said to tell you—”

“On _three_ ,” Cassian says. “One, two, _go_.”

There is only a 43% chance of reaching the speeder without Cassian being hit by blaster fire, so K-2 plans to drive. It is faster to remove the door than to open it gently, so K-2 wrenches the door off, climbs in, and grasps hold of Cassian’s shirt to ensure that he remains within the speeder as they make a rapid departure.

“You could have climbed over the door,” Cassian says.

“This was easier.” 

Cassian’s breathing is unsteady, and K-2 is aware from his tone of voice that he is injured before he looks and notes the damage to Cassian's jacket sleeve and to the flesh beneath it. “This arm is going to be a problem.”

“We have medical supplies in the ship.” They always have medical supplies in the ship.

“We can’t go back to the ship right now. They’ll be waiting for us. Also, we still need to get the information we’re here for.”

“The chances of this mission being successful appear to be diminishing.”

“These are minor problems,” Cassian says. “Head for the next town.”

“Nothing in visual or sensor range appears to be a town.”

“There has to be a town out here somewhere.” Cassian squints at the desert. “You could actually be right about the sand.” 

“Of course I am,” K-2 says.

They reach what is, presumably, a town, as it contains a small number of buildings and organic life forms. “Pull over here,” Cassian says, directing him to the back of an apparently abandoned structure in poor repair. “We can leave the speeder here. It’s a little conspicuous now.”

“It appears to me that a vehicle in good working order would be more conspicuous here.”

“Yes, but …” Cassian stumbles as he climbs out of the speeder, and K-2 moves to support him before he hits the sand. “I’m all right.”

“We should find medical treatment.” 

“I expect that walking down the main street of this place with a blaster wound is also going to be conspicuous,” Cassian says. “This is a very small town. Let me sit down for a minute, and then I'll bind up this arm, and then we'll ... do the next thing.” Cassian enters the structure, slides down against the wall, and rests his forehead on his knees. “Please don't do anything reckless.”

K-2 would never do anything reckless. However, when Cassian does not stir even when prodded, K-2 concludes that he is in need of emergency medical treatment. The situation therefore requires obtaining a human who can be induced to render assistance. 

“This is not reckless,” K-2 assures Cassian, and then goes to find a human to abduct. 

*****

The suns are low in the sky as Luke hurries to his speeder. Uncle Owen isn’t going to be happy if he gets home after dark. He didn’t mean to spend all day hanging out with his friends, but time slipped away from him, and now he’d better hustle if he doesn’t want a lecture about responsibility.

He’s not in the mood to deal with a strange droid hanging around his speeder. “Hey, you,” he says. “This isn’t your speeder.”

“Why do so many humans state the obvious?” the droid says. It’s humanoid, but not a model Luke recognizes. The Jawas get all kinds of castoffs from more civilized worlds, though. He wonders what this one was intended to do, and whether it’s too confused by finding itself on Tatooine to make much sense.

“Go home,” Luke says as patiently as he can. “That’s where I’m going, right now.”

“That's not true. You have to come with me,” the droid says.

Luke shakes his head. “I don’t know what you’re selling, or what you think you’re doing, but I’m in a hurry.”

“If you have first aid supplies in your vehicle, you should bring them.”

Luke frowns. “Is someone hurt?” If someone’s wrecked their speeder, or been in an accident out on one of the farms, they’re going to need more help than this droid is probably going to be able to get here in Anchorhead. The shops are already closing up for the night, shuttering their windows against the harsh night winds. “I have a medical kit in the speeder.” His uncle will complain if he hands out supplies to strangers, but if someone’s in trouble, he ought to help if he can.

He’s barely pulled the kit out of the speeder when the droid grabs him by the back of the shirt. “Do not make any sudden moves.”

“Hey, what’s the big idea?” Clearly the droid is malfunctioning. Luke can’t see a restraining bolt on him, either. Maybe the accident scrambled its brains. He figures he could probably wrench himself out of the droid’s grip, but it’s probably better to cooperate and see if the droid’s owner can shed some light on things.

The suns are lowering further, dipping toward the horizon, by the time they reach a tumble-down old building on the edge of town, its dome still standing, but cracked to open the inside to the weather. Luke shakes his head. He’s really going to be in for it when he gets home, but— “In here?”

“Thank you for your cooperation,” the droid says, and manhandles him inside.

There’s a man sitting propped up against one wall of the building. He’s dressed like a spacer, not a local, and he’s obviously hurt; his leather jacket is charred down the length of one arm, and the burns underneath look nasty. 

He looks up with dark eyes that focus intently on Luke, his mouth twitching a little as if in acknowledgment that he looks like a mess, and Luke finds himself feeling suddenly awkward. He doesn’t stare at handsome strangers, he tells himself. That definitely isn’t a thing he does.

“I’m Luke,” he says. “It looks like you’ve had some kind of trouble?”

*****

The newcomer is just a boy, Cassian thinks. Seventeen? Eighteen? Cassian isn’t actually sure what that age looks like on the face of someone who isn’t involved in rebellion or crime. Luke’s expression is entirely open, all interest and concern, despite the fact that K-2 has unfairly involved him in their troubles. 

“I have acquired a useful prisoner,” K-2 says.

“I’m not a prisoner. Your droid seemed to think you needed help.”

Cassian thanks whatever powers might be listening that Luke didn’t actually try to resist. K-2 can be unfortunately single-minded when it comes to protecting Cassian, and Cassian is all too aware of exactly how few inhibitions against violence his friend has. 

“We’ll talk about this later,” Cassian says to K-2. “I didn’t think I needed to tell you not to kidnap someone.”

K-2 looks unrepentant. “How was I to know?”

“I’m not kidnapped,” Luke says. It’s probably better if he believes that. “Can you get the jacket off?”

Cassian lets Luke help, because that’s probably less painful than letting K-2 help. The world still swims unpleasantly as he pulls his arm free of the ruined sleeve. He’s annoyed with himself for blacking out earlier. It’s possible that the combination of several days with minimal sleep on this mission, the mess that was their _previous_ mission, and a blaster wound is catching up with him. Clearly the lesson is that he has to strive to do better.

“I’ve got some bacta patches, but you could probably stand to let a surgical droid look at it,” Luke says. “I know that costs money, but it might be worth it.” 

“I will when I get home,” Cassian says. At least this time he can tell 2-1B that his injuries were treated in the field, thereby possibly saving himself a lecture on the role of appropriate first aid in preserving valuable Alliance resources. 

“I have to get home myself,” Luke says. “Uncle Owen and Aunt Beru are going to be getting worried. They think I’m still about six years old.” He sits back on his heels, working the bacta patch onto Cassian’s burned arm. “So where’s home for you?”

“I’m Festian,” Cassian says. Even through the pain, he’s aware that it might have been wiser to claim a different home planet, but he hasn’t been making the effort to sound like he’s from anywhere else. He really is tired.

“I’ve never been off Tatooine,” Luke says, and Cassian relaxes a little. Probably he doesn’t have any idea where Fest is. “What’s your homeworld like?”

Cassian can’t explain the sudden cramp of homesickness in the middle of his chest, except that it’s rare for him to talk to someone who’ll actually be safely home in a matter of hours. “I haven’t been there in a long time.”

“I’m looking for a way offworld myself,” Luke says. “I’m planning to apply to the Academy next year. I want to be a pilot.”

It’s possible that Cassian wanted to be a pilot once in that uncomplicated a way, some time before he threw his first rock at a Stormtrooper at the age of six. Cassian probably ought to feel contemptuous, but instead he just feels old. “You support the Empire?”

“Is there much choice?”

K-2 makes a metallic noise that Cassian decides after a moment is intended to represent clearing his throat. He gets the message anyway. He’s not playing either Imperial agent or Alliance agent right now, but trying to ingratiate himself with the Hutt crime lords by playing a small-time criminal in the pay of one of the syndicates. Trying to disabuse Luke of any romantic notions about the Imperial Navy without breaking character sounds more complicated than he can manage at the moment.

“You’re sensible,” he says instead. “And very helpful, thank you.”

“It’s not a problem,” Luke says. There’s color in his cheeks. Can the boy actually be blushing at being complimented? Cassian decides he can, and is aware that part of his mind is already thinking about how he can use that response. He tells that part of his mind to take a long walk. He’s grateful for the help, and isn’t about to repay it by getting Luke more deeply involved in their problems.

“Still, much appreciated,” he says. “I think we can take it from here.”

“Look, it’s getting late, and there’s nowhere to spend the night in Anchorhead,” Luke says. “Why don’t you come back with me? Aunt Beru will be making dinner, and you can rest up before you head out in the morning.”

There is some part of Cassian that says, yes, he wants to be taken home to let Luke’s family feed him dinner and make up a bed for him with nice clean sheets. He is more than a little appalled to realize that part of him exists. It’s out of the question, anyway. He’s not leading a Hutt Lord’s hired gunmen to a farmhouse where someone’s defenseless aunt and uncle will be sleeping.

“I’m afraid we can’t wait,” Cassian says. “Thank you again. I’m sorry if K-2 didn’t ask you politely.”

“It’s fine,” Luke says. “No hard feelings, K-2.”

“I was very polite,” K-2 says. 

“You said you abducted him,” Cassian points out.

“Politely.”

“If you really have to go,” Luke says, and he watches as Cassian and K-2 climb into their battered speeder. Hungry for the taste of adventure, Cassian thinks. He can’t decide if he’s still looking for ways to manipulate, an instinct he can’t shake, or just trying to remember what it felt like to see the galaxy as full of promise. 

“We could have gone with him,” K-2 says, steering them away from town toward open desert. “He seemed nice.”

Cassian leans back in his seat wearily. “What do you know about nice?”

“He seemed unlikely to attempt to kill you while you slept.”

“It’s not all about me, Kay.”

“If you allow yourself to be killed on this planet, I will have to live here, with the sand. I will have to farm moisture.”

“It’s true you would make a terrible moisture farmer.”

“We should locate shelter for the night."

“We should,” Cassian says, because that’s the next thing in a never-ending litany of next things. 

“Unfortunately, an unreasonable percentage of this planet’s surface is covered by featureless sand.”

“Let’s work with what we’ve got,” Cassian says, preparing to see what other local resources they can turn to hand.


End file.
